


Grief

by shenko464



Series: Tales of the Silver Lilies and the White Wolf [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-23 14:56:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23046724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shenko464/pseuds/shenko464
Summary: Vernon's not good with words so he offers himself to Geralt in the aftermath of the battle at Kaer Morhen.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Vernon Roche
Series: Tales of the Silver Lilies and the White Wolf [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628383
Comments: 3
Kudos: 58





	Grief

**Author's Note:**

> Vernon and Geralt are already in an established relationship and everyone knows and is ok with it.

Vernon felt lucky indeed to have survived the battle with the Wild Hunt. It was going well in the beginning; he and Ves managed to thin out the first two waves with their concealed traps. Her crossbow lessened the frontal assault of the hounds, softening up the numbers for Vernon to finish the rest off with his falchion. 

For the heavily armored foes, however, he ordered Ves to retreat into the inner castle walls, well away from Triss’ meteorite attacks and the Wild Hunt’s cavalry. 

Then things went to shit. 

The final wave broke through the doors with such force that it sundered them permanently, bending the metal structures almost in half. A hound suddenly lunged at him from the side and Vernon, having just killed a heavily armored assailant, knew that he couldn’t bring his sword around in time to strike at the creature. 

The hound jumped at him, sharp fangs gleaming in the weak light, and he fell backward. He let out a shout of agony as the creature bit into his arm, which was instinctively flung out to protect his vulnerable throat. Exhaustion crept into his muscles and he knew it was only a matter of time before he made a fatal mistake. 

He hoped that Geralt was having better luck than him and that the witcher wouldn’t see his last moments to be torn asunder underneath sharp claws and unforgiving teeth. 

The hound inexplicably went slack and then kicked off him, only to reveal a familiar hulking mass of muscles and scars, amber eyes boring his like a hungry serpent.

“Geralt would throw a hissy fit if you were dead,” the drawl still made his skin crawl and Vernon was not going to thank him. He’d rather die a dignified death than be saved by his late king’s murderer. However, this was neither the time nor place to revisit old grudges. 

Letho, for his part, did not extend a hand to help Vernon up. Instead, he merely stood guard while the man struggled to his feet, gathering his sword and dagger about him. 

“Vernon!” Ves rushed to him, a crossbow aimed at Letho, who merely shrugged and went about his way once the Temerian was able to refocus. A gesture from Vernon lowered her aim but only slightly.

“I’m still not going to thank you, kingslayer,” Vernon said but there was no bitterness in his tone. Just exhaustion. 

Before Letho could reply, the sky thundered and a flash of lightning blinded Vernon, to the point where he couldn’t see for a few minutes. Then, a rush of freezing air swept through the inner keep and Vernon found himself encased in ice and unable to move. A moment of true terror crept into his mind and his last thought of was of Geralt’s eyes and the softening of that serpentine gaze.  
\---  
The pyre burned hotly that cold night, made even hotter by the freezing temperatures and the beginning of snowfall. 

It was silent and morose; no tears, no crying echoed in the now-empty valley of Kaer Morhen. Instead, only remorse and regret hung there, like a stifling blanket that threatened to smother everything else.

Geralt’s form was just visible in the growing twilight and Vernon knew that no words could ever comfort his lover at that point. Only his presence was needed and so he stood next to Geralt, a hand on the witcher’s shoulder to let him know of Vernon’s presence.

Geralt didn’t hug him or passionately kiss him in front of his close friends. This life wasn’t a fairytale and there was no magical kiss that could solve the world’s problems. Instead, only suffering existed and whatever was done to ease that suffering was the only thing that kept the masses floating in an ocean of misery. 

However, Geralt felt less tense underneath his grasp and the witcher released a shaky sigh of Vernon’s name. That was good enough for Vernon, who expected nothing from Geralt.

When Geralt came to his room later that evening, he answered the door only in his trousers, which were swiftly taken off in the witcher’s hastiness to undress him and push him unto the straw mattress that was barely covered by the bearskin blanket. 

Vernon expected the witcher’s rough touches, brought on by the grief that swallowed Geralt whole. 

When Geralt did the exact opposite, his gentle touches leaving behind fiery tendrils of desire and want, it undid Vernon. 

He clutched at the strong shoulders, gasping as Geralt trailed kisses from his mouth and down an invisible line to where his cock lay, hard and leaking. Hands, strong enough to strangle a man to death, stroked his flanks until they laid on the inner thighs and pulled them apart.  


Hot breaths drifted along his cock and Vernon let out a shaky breath at the sensation of slick warm flesh brushing against the tip and then down towards where he was most sensitive.

“…G-Geralt…you don’t…” his protests fell on deaf ears and Geralt’s attention focused on wrecking him apart with his tongue. 

It was easy to forget that his lover wasn’t a normal human but a mutated one, with all the endurance of a monster and the humanity of the original host. The intensity of his focus awed Vernon and shook him to his core as he felt undeserving of such worship, of devotion and love that Geralt poured into his attention on the Temerian. 

Hot liquid splashed on his stomach and Vernon fell boneless against the straw mattress, his chest heaving as pleasure wrung him through, rendering his mind incapable of putting cohesive sentences together.

Then shame coursed through him as Vernon realized that it was Geralt doing all the work. He should have been doing this, comforting the witcher with passionate kisses and caresses.  
“Vernon…” a whisper in the darkness pulled him out of his shame and then dry lips slanted over his, followed by a tongue brushing against his entrance, asking, not taking. 

Opening his mouth and meeting that questing tongue with his own, Vernon let out a deep groan and he wrapped his hands around those broad shoulders, to bring him closer and closer to the man who remained faithful to him, who did all he asked of him in his quest for King Foltest's murderer and then with King Radovid.

He was upset at Letho’s presence but that could be forgiven, for now at least, in the aftermath of the clash with the Wild Hunt. Loss tends to sweep everything else aside, leaving behind only a wish, a wanting to do something different, to hold unto what’s most precious in life. 

Heavy panting could be heard in their small room followed intermittently by promises softly murmured against warm skin. 

Vernon’s cock hardened again in response to Geralt bringing their shafts together in a heated embrace. He gasped as the witcher’s impossibly hot hand firmly clasped and stroked their erections, twisting in such a delicious way that made both men groan. 

Geralt used the spilled offering on Vernon’s stomach and coated his fingers before easing them into Vernon, eliciting sharp curses of Geralt’s name. His first orgasm loosened the muscles but Geralt was huge and Vernon hissed as three fingers scissored inside him, each one seeking that spot that would make him cry out like a whore. 

It was with a jolt that Geralt found what he was seeking and Vernon shouted his name. Neither man cared if anyone could hear them. They were safe, here in the nearly empty castle of Geralt’s home. 

“…Vernon…Vernon….” The witcher kept calling his name, over and over again, as if the man would disappear any second if he stopped. Vernon gasped as Geralt pushed inside him, slowly but never stopping until he had to. 

He moaned at the girth of Geralt’s shaft and tendrils of pain burned his lower back. No matter how many times they had done this, it still took Vernon a few moments to adjust and acclimate to the large erection. 

But Geralt was always patient in this, never chastising or giving out snide comments about it. It was the only time he wasn’t his usual self as if he wanted to show Vernon his deeper side, trusting that the man wouldn’t use it against him. 

Eventually, Vernon nodded his assent and his pained moans at the initial thrusts soon transformed into soft pants, of Geralt’s name leaving his lips. Blunt nails dug into the meat of the man’s shoulders and Vernon knew that the crescent marks would heal quickly enough.  
Geralt sighed against his fevered skin, whispers of a promise soaking through his being, along with the sweat and musk of arousal. Strong fingers trailed down from his throat and stopped at his other sensitive spots. 

The witcher always had a fascination with his nipples, a light shade of brown and sensitive to Geralt’s fingers. A particularly tight pinch followed by a wet lick had Vernon shuddering and clutching at the white hair. Strands of it tickled his chest and offered a sharp contrast to the hot sensation covering his chest. 

The delicious friction from the push and pull of their bodies had Vernon hardening again, impossibly so for a second time in such a short amount of time. 

“…G-er-Geralt…I…I can’t…”

He couldn’t come for the second time. It would wreck him and the witcher grunted in response. He pulled back and Vernon thought for a moment that he was going to be given a respite. 

However, they were still connected and strong hands wrapped around his torso, only to pull him upright and sitting in the witcher’s lap. 

The angle pushed Geralt further inside and prodding unforgivingly against his prostate. Spluttered moans and curses escaped him and Vernon wanted to cry out as Geralt coerced his body into a second release, the man’s hips forcing his own to rise and fall continuously on his length. 

A hand tugged at his hair and pulled his head back, leaving his throat bare and exposed to sharp teeth that nipped along the length of his neck. It was the bite that had Vernon come again, dry and hurting, and he fell limp unto Geralt’s chest, his body listless as his third release left him shattered and malleable in the witcher’s hold.

His chest heaved as he tried to take in much-needed air. The room spun a little and it was getting foggy.

Someone was whispering to him. "...love…Vernon…sorry..."

Why was Geralt sorry?

“…Iove you…”

Vernon wanted to say something but all that he could get out was Geralt's name. 

Something wet dripped onto his cheeks and Vernon's eyes fluttered open.

Geralt was…Geralt was crying.

The amber eyes were wet with emotion and Vernon saw the tracks left by the tears that ran down the witcher’s cheeks.

“I’m here,” Vernon managed to say, “I’m here.”

As weary as he was, it was more important to say those words of comfort, to embrace the witcher with tired arms and a warm body. Vernon wasn’t good at offering verbal comfort but Geralt understood that. All Vernon could do was let him know that he was there, to pull him out of the darkness that was the Path and to make him realize that he was human enough for this and that was okay.


End file.
